


Untitled scribbling: "Color"

by orphan_account



Series: Scraps and Scribblings [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Scraps, scribblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing around with my favorite trope: When you meet your soulmate, the world begins to have color. Until then, everything is gray. And that's how you know.</p>
<p>
  <i>Everything they taught you in grade school, with the allegories and the fairy tales, suggested that when you met your Half, you’d think they were made for you. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Charles had not ever, in his strangest imaginings, pictured Erik.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled scribbling: "Color"

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first XMFC effort. I'm attached to it. One day, it may even be (gasp) finished. It was going to be much longer and angstier, but then Game of Thrones and the RenLoras challenge and I lost it.

 

The first time they met, it was dark, and to their eyes, the world was greyscale. There were rather more pressing matters, as well—the fact that Erik was attempting to, well, _destroy_ a pleasure barge being one of the major ones, yes.

It wasn’t until later—when they were inside, drying off, Erik taken by Moira for “questioning” on _why_ exactly he was attempting to destroy a boat—that Charles noticed.

The towel he was wrapped in was…well, he didn’t have a name for it, properly. He’d heard of the color spectrum, was aware of wavelengths and frequencies and how light scattered, but he didn’t have a word for this color. It was pleasing to the eye, though. A further examination of the towel’s tag told him it was _maroon_. A darkish, purplish red, then. Charles had never known _purple_ and he’d never known _red_. It was one of the cons of not finding his Half at a young age: conceptual knowledge of colors.

The stone and steel of the room were likely shades of _grey_ ; his skin was a pale _tan_ , and now Charles really was interested, because of all the people whose minds he’d glanced off of, none of them had been paired with their Half. None of them knew  _color,_ because it was statistically unlikely for them to have found that one person in…five billion, he guessed roughly, that would make them _see_.

He’d only really met one new person in the last hour or so, though, and a quick telepathic read of the ship confirmed that, yes, it was indeed this… _metallokinetic_ , and he didn’t seem at all pleased.

*****

Initially, that was. Not two games of chess later, Erik ( _Erik_ , he rolled the name around mentally) tumbled him into bed (of course that would never have happened except by mutual agreement) and sex with Erik was vastly different from the coeds he’d picked up with his lines about groovy mutations, it was _color_ and the headboard bending to wrap around his wrists and the _connection_ , it was _overwhelming_. He didn’t know how Erik could _feel_ so strongly, God.

Everything they taught you in grade school, with the allegories and the fairy tales, suggested that when you met your Half, you’d think they were _made_ for you. 

Charles had not ever, in his strangest imaginings, pictured Erik.

******

When Raven ran up to him in tears, saying, “Your eyes are _blue_ , Charles, they’re _blue_ , I’m _blue_ , oh, God—,” Charles had the decency not to ask until she’d finished crying.

“Who?” he prodded gently, curled on a too-small sofa in his quarters at the so-called CIA "Mutant Branch.”

She simply shook her head into the general vicinity of his armpit, where she’d slid once she sat down, and murmured, “How did you and Erik deal with this? You met and then suddenly you were Mommy and Daddy Mutant.”

Charles refrained from asking which of them was which, because he had a sneaking suspicion he did _not_ want the answer to that question. Rather, he answered simply, “Erik and I…took it for what it is, quite literally, at the start. Simply a biological compatibility.”

“And then you had sex,” Raven said thickly.

“Yes,” Charles replied tightly. “Which you don’t have to.”

“You liked it.”

Charles chuckled, jostling Raven’s head about slightly. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, but there _is_ in fact more to Erik than his, er, prowess in sexual matters.” He stroked her hair, red in contrast to her blue skin and white robe, and asked again, more delicately, “Who?”

“The scientist with the foot thing…Hank was his name. _Hank_.” Her thoughts were colored with puzzlement, and Charles didn’t have to extend his ability at all to pick up on the waves of frustration rolling off of his sister. “What do I do?” she grumbled finally. “O Wise One.”

He played idly with a stray lock of her hair. “Well, first I’d suggest ceasing the hysterics and actually having a chat with the poor man—“

Erik chose that moment to unlock the door to the apartment and slide in, a slight smile curving his lips as his eyes lit on Charles, curled up on the couch with his foster sister. Charles didn’t notice, until Raven did, that all the tension went out of Charles’s body as he smiled back and breathed a, “Welcome home, Erik.”

When Erik was safely out of earshot, though, Raven muttered, “You two are disgusting.”

********

That day on the beach, Erik walked away—with Raven, of course, but the real kicker was  _Erik_. The color began to leach out of the world in a week...or so. Charles lost count. It started with, funnily enough, gray--the blue-gray of Erik's eyes. Then it was blue (sweater vests and cardigans and _Raven_ ), tan (pants pooled on the floor of their room), brown (belts around wrists on bedposts and the color of the wood flooring). 


End file.
